


Among the Lost

by glackedandmullered



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 09:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2616809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glackedandmullered/pseuds/glackedandmullered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they find out what you've done, what will they do in return?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Among the Lost

Michael traced the patchwork of white lines that criss crossed the skin of his thigh. It had been years since a razor had danced across that particular patch of skin, the pathways healed to a point where only the worst of the cuts were visible if you looked close enough. 

Those days were past him now, long gone the rainy evenings in New Jersey, the streetlights through his bedroom window the only illumination to guide Michael’s hand in slicing open the delicate skin. When every thought in his head circled around _cut cut cut_ , every slice he made felt like freedom. 

Long gone so he thought. 

If those days were so far behind him then why was he, alone in the house in the middle of the afternoon, tracing the scars with one hand while the other held a brand new blade, fresh out of the pack, and as sharp as it would ever be?

He could find a thousand things to blame on his sudden need to see blood, feel pain again. A thousand things that couldn’t live up to Michael’s innate unstable nature. Of course looking back now he guessed it had always been inevitable; after all he never really received help in the first place, he just sort of...stopped one day. 

After his mother found out - one night with blood on his wrist and dirtied blade in hand - she tried to make him talk to a therapist; that’s what mothers do after all, they fix. But Michael found it too hard, too impossible to put his - for want of a better word - fucking up head into words. Hell, he barely understood himself, how was some jumped up Freud wannabe meant to get it?

So he told his mom that he was getting better and, in time, he actually began to. The time with blade on skin becoming further and further apart until one day a year had passed, and his skin was faded and old. 

On with his life he went; he met the best friend he had always wanted, Ray, yelled at a computer and got hired at RoosterTeeth where he could channel his emotions into videos for Achievement Hunter. Then he found himself stumbling into a vastly complicated, yet oh so easy relationship with his five office co-workers - now that had been a hell of a surprise. 

Everything pointed towards his healing, his survival. 

Unfortunately, nothing could protect Michael from himself. 

The moments after that first cut after three years felt like the world had slowed down to a halt. Pain, grief, relief, guilt; all swirling around inside his head while nothing around him dared to move. 

In the blades absence he had forgotten just how sharp the object could be and the first cut, though hesitant, sliced deep into Michael’s thigh, immediately filling with blood and running a river down to the tiled floor. His lungs practically emptied with the force of the subsequent sharp exhale. The air felt thick like molasses as he drew in the deepest breath he could and sliced again, more controlled this time; the cut was shallower, more of a slight dip than the cavern he had opened up beside it. 

Throwing his head back and letting it rest on the wall behind him, he let out a long, sated sigh. The blood running slow rivers across his skin felt comforting, the familiar sting of the cuts feeling like an old friend returning from far away. As he breathed in and out, slow and steady, he revelled in the 

He waited until the blood had clotted and dried up before making any attempt at cleaning. The larger cut had a chunky layer of gooey red that cracked open and leaked more blood out as he pulled on the skin with the movement of the damp cloth he was using to wipe off the cracked rivulets covering his skin. 

Quickly covering that up with a gauze pad, Michael taped it down and wrapped a thin layer of bandages once, twice, three times around his thigh before turning his mind to the rest of the clean up. Most of the blood had coagulated into a terrible sticky puddle on the tile, seeping into the cracks that Michael had to pour bleach into to completely clear up the mess. Methodically he scrubbed. On his hands and knees the position pulled at the wounds in the best way, and he found himself losing track of his motions, continuing to scrub until his hands were red and the floor was the cleanest it had ever been. 

In an effort to make his alibi for the smell of bleach work, Michael wiped down the countertop, shoved all the gauze packets, bloodied cloth, and the bloodless razor into a plastic bag and double checked the entire bathroom for any droplets of blood. Completely clear. 

He didn’t realise until it was done just how emotionlessly he could clean up the mess. It felt too natural to him. 

The hallway outside the bathroom was dark. It had been around 5pm when Michael had gone into the room, and going by the rapidly retracting light through the windows, it must be around 9 now. He was surprised no one was home. 

Though he had barely felt it when the skin split open, he was definitely feeling each pull and tug as he made his way slowly down the hall to the bedroom. Walking around in his boxers he begged the guys to stay out for just a few more minutes, long enough for Michael to locate some clothes to hide the bandages. 

His stomach grumbled and he realised that, though he had taken a half day intending to make something to eat when he got home, he hadn’t made it to the kitchen before darting up to the bathroom. Now his stomach was complaining. 

He was fixing himself a sandwich as the car pulled into the driveway. He heard the engine before he saw the lights, recognised the sound he heard so often before they could even be in his sight. _9:30PM_ Michael noted, looking to the clock mounted on the wall; that was excessively late for them considering they had hardly anything to do as far as editing went, and they wouldn’t record without him. Would they?

Shaking the thought from his mind, Michael opened the door, letting the hallway light illuminate their path to the house. Ryan climbed out of the drivers side and Ray got out of the back first, supporting Gavin as he stumbled from the car; those things combined told Michael where they had been. Drinking. 

“You went to the bar without me?” Michael asked, slightly crestfallen. 

“They went to the bar without you,” Ryan corrected, gesturing to the staggering figures of ‘Plan G’ “At five o’clock, we just had to rescue them before they got themselves another five hundred dollar tab.” He was rolling his eyes playfully as he walked briskly over to Michael and leaned down to kiss him. His lips were stale against Michael’s and the lad felt the sting of his fresh wound throb. 

Jack hand Geoff’s arm slung over his shoulder, supporting him as he staggered to the door. 

“Nope, I’m not listening to you right now,” Jack was saying as they walked, “I’m gonna take you to sleep this off and you can bet your ass I’ll be waking you up with Gavin’s text tone in the morning.” Michael winced on Geoff’s behalf and stepped aside to let them pass. 

He barely acknowledged Michael while he pushed Geoff up the stairs and disappeared from sight. Michael’s leg throbbed again. 

“Did you enjoy your afternoon?” Ray asked, letting Ryan take over on practically carrying Gavin in the direction Geoff and Jack had gone. He gave Michael a quick, fleeting kiss on the cheek, kicking his shoes into the middle of the hall. 

“Yeah it was...fine.” Michael replied, not that Ray had stuck around for an answer. He was already in the kitchen, head stuck in the fridge. 

Sighing, Michael leaned down to pick up Ray’s shoes - they would be no good there when Gavin snuck down in the night and split his head open falling over them - but a sharp pain down his thigh almost made him cry out. He bit his lip and gripped his leg firmly, hissing at the pain as he tossed Ray’s Vans in the general direction of the hall closet. 

Limping into the kitchen he tried to ignore the agony shooting down his leg, picking up the half of his sandwich that was left; Ray had already taken the other half, shoving it in his mouth so fast he was practically inhaling it. Michael took slower, smaller bites. 

After a few moments he realised Ray was staring at him. 

“Did you spill something?” Ray asked around a mouthful of food, pointing lazily at Michael’s jeans. 

Sure enough when he glanced down Michael saw a growing dark patch - of what he knew to be blood - soaking through the material. He swallowed thickly.

“Must have,” He shrugged as calmly as he could before backing up, mumbling some excuse about going to clean up, walking much faster once he was out of the eyeline. His leg was throbbing and he could definitely feel the wet drip running down his thigh. 

The light under the bathroom door left him cursing, and the sound of vomiting made him sweat. 

“If you’re waiting to pee you might be a while, he was green as kermit.” Jack commented, holding a screwed up sheet in his hands and looking a little pale himself. Michael glanced around for an answer before settling on the door at the end of the hall.

“Nah, just need to change, I can go in the guest room.” Jack nodded, not making any further comment as he shuffled down the hall, no doubt to the laundry room to clean the puke soiled sheet. 

Shoving his jeans down his legs the second he had gotten into the guest room and locked the door he cringed. The bandage was soaked through, saturated with red and the fluid had indeed started running in thick rivers down his leg. 

“Fuck,” Michael cursed, unravelling the bandages and tossing them onto the soiled jeans. 

The gauze fell off the moment the bandages were off, too soaked through to hold up with the tape. It fell to the floor with a soft _plat!_ and splattered tiny droplets of blood across the hardwood. Michael had to disregard that for a moment as he took in the revealed wounds. 

The first cut, the deepest, was wide open and bleeding as if newly done; the second less so but still leaking. 

_Should have gone for stitches._ Michael thought numbly, ripping the base sheet off the bed behind him and pressing it firmly to the wound. It soaked through in seconds but Michael simply folded another section on top and collapsed onto the bare mattress weakly. 

Behind the door people walked, talked, and clicked lights on and off, but no one came close to the guest room door. Michael couldn’t decide whether to be pissed off or relieved that they had forgotten about him. 

He was drowsy, feeling nauseous as he folded another corner on top of the wound - noting thankfully that it didn’t bleed through as quickly - and tucked his legs up onto the mattress, getting as comfortable as he could while he waited for the blood flow to stop completely. 

In the back of his mind he thought briefly that he should probably go to a hospital; but he couldn’t do that quietly, and this wasn’t the way he had intended for the guys to discover his secret. He hadn’t expected it to ever happen, really.

The voices and movement got further away, quieter as he lay there in wait. The sky darker through the window and Michael could have sworn he saw the stars brighter than he ever had beyond the glass. Or maybe those spots were across his vision for another reason… Maybe… 

\---

He awoke suddenly with a single pinpoint stream of sunlight beaming directly into his eyes. 

Cringing, he lifted one hand and slung it over his face while simultaneously rolling away from the offending light. The movement set a spike of pain through his lower half and he halted in shock. Blinking blearily as he pulled his hand away, he realised he was in the guest room. He barely managed a second of confusion before the night all rushed back to him. Blood, lots of blood. 

Casting searching eyes down to the bed below him he started. The sheet he had used to block the blood the night before was laying scrunched up on the floor, the mattress soaking up the remainder of any leakage from the wound that was now almost black with the crusted, dry fluid. 

He sat up slowly, dragging his stinging leg along the sheets, hissing in pain when the movement pulled at the wound. Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes Michael drew in a few slow breaths, watching the dancing red spots behind his eyelids while his headache pounded away. 

Besides the sleep mussed hair and pounding headache, he was in exactly the same condition he had gone to sleep in. 

No one had come to check on him?

He didn’t linger too much on the thought while pulling on a pair of sweatpants from the bottom of the closet, hiding the cut. He was pretty sure it was Saturday - thankfully, he could do with the couch day - but he couldn’t remember what the others were doing. 

Brushing his teeth turned into just swilling water around in his mouth and spitting out the taste of stale sleep, once his hand missed his toothbrush three times and he gave up trying. Another pad of gauze was retrieved from the first-aid kit and taped over the wound; it would stick better now that the wound was somewhat dried up. The bedroom door was closed as he passed, no sound from the TV or radio like there would normally be on a day off.

The kitchen was empty save Jack, who stood at the stove, apron on and spatula in hand. He turned briefly as Michael entered, simply raising his free hand in greeting. 

“Sleep well?” The man asked, flipping a couple of pancakes onto a plate and pushing it towards Michael as he sat down on one of the bar stools. 

“I slept in the guest room.” 

“Yeah we noticed,” Jack said, frowning, “Didn’t want to deal with pukey plan G?” 

“I just fell asleep in there, you could have woken me.” Michael said sourly. He realised that if they had come in they would have seen a bloodbath but in retrospect it was nice to complain. 

“Ray was going to.” Jack shrugged. 

Michael waited a few seconds for him to continue. 

He didn’t. 

“Where is everyone?” Michael asked, impaling a chunk of pancake onto his fork. Jack didn’t turn around.

“Gavin’s sleeping off last night. Ray and Ryan stole Geoff earlier to finish some work.” Michael nodded and took a small bite of his food, it was delicious, Jack really was the best at this stuff.

“And you?” He asked, getting up briefly to flick on the coffee maker, “What do you plan on doing?” 

Jack thought about it, pouring out the coffee for Michel since it had been pretty much heated to full temperature anyway. He turned the stove off and pushed the pan and spatula to the back of the unit.

“Wanna play some assassins creed?” 

Michael grinned and replied in the affirmative, following Jack into the living room, the sting in his thigh barely registering as they booted up the xbox and sat down, Michael slinging his legs up into Jack’s lap. 

\---

“Do you want us to save you some dinner?” Michael shook his head, catching himself when he remembered Geoff couldn’t see him. 

“If there are any leftovers just stick them in the fridge,” He mumbled into the phone, wary of the other people sitting around him. Beside him, a scruffy woman bundled up in blankets coughed harshly twice before covering her mouth, Michael shifted a little further over in his seat. He hated clinics. 

“Are you sure you don’t want one of us to come sit with you?” Stupidly, he shook his head again. 

“Thanks Geoff but I won’t be long. Just gotta wait for this queue to clear and I’ll be in and out.” Geoff sighed. 

“I can’t believe we didn’t even notice you get sick.” Biting back a retort Michael simply hummed in response. They hadn’t noticed because he wasn’t sick, there had been a few things they hadn’t noticed that they should have, his sickness not being one of them.

“I think they’re calling me in now, Geoff, I’ll call you later.” He lied, agreeing when Geoff instructed him to get a cab back and not to walk, even though his car was sitting there in the parking lot. After mumbling a quick ‘love you’ he hung up and dropped the phone into his coat pocket. 

He felt even more exposed once the line disconnected. At least while he was on the phone he could ignore the questioning stares from the people around him as he pressed the bundled up t-shirt harder against his left thigh. His right - the one with the still healing slice from the beginning of his relapse, and a handful of slimmer cuts - was helpfully covered by the other leg of his shorts but he couldn’t help feeling that they could see somehow, see the mess beneath his clothes. 

He hadn’t meant to cut so deep. It had been a complete accident. One minute he was sitting on the floor of the bathroom, hands shaking while he fought to keep the blade from touching his skin, the next he was cradling himself in pain with - what can only be described as - a gaping hole in his leg. 

Since his relapse it’d been a couple of small slices every other day just to keep his head clear, other than the first wound he’d been pretty safe. This time he wasn’t taking any chances, feigning illness to Ryan over the phone and telling them he would quickly run over to the walk in clinic and get some pills for it, before getting in his car and holding the shirt to his leg with one hand. He tried to ignore the blood seeping into the upholstery. 

“Michael Jones?” His head snapped up to see a young blonde nurse in the doorway, a clip board tucked under her arm as she looked around expectantly. 

His whole body seemed to ache as he limped his way over to the door. 

Avoiding questions was an easy task when none were asked. The clinic was busy - the ‘get the patient in, fix them up, send them home’ kind of busy - and Michael just focused his attention on the pale green cubicle curtain while he was numbed up and stitched up. 

He could tell from the little inhales and pauses in hand movements that the girl wanted to comment, but she was obviously new and eager to keep to her time restraints. Eleven stitches later he was sent away with a prescription of painkillers and a couple of extra gauze pads to replace the one she had taped over the sterilized wound. 

Michael contemplated leaving his car in the parking lot and getting a cab like he had promised Geoff he would, but it would take him a good hour to walk back when he needed to pick it up and he just couldn’t summon up the effort to wait for the company to actually send him a car. 

His head was too fuzzy to be driving he quickly realised, but he was halfway home and there was nowhere to leave it so he had to push on, the painkillers filtering his brain into a semblance of mush. At least he had only taken half the prescription. 

The blood loss and pain had given him the sickly pale skin, lack of sleep contributing a helpful smudge under each eye, and Michael rubbed his eyes to give them a bit more of a bloodshot appearance before going inside. Just about remembering to shove the hospital brand paper bag underneath the seat, pill box crushed into his pocket, he was greeted at the door by a judgemental Geoff. 

“I already drove there.” He defended quickly, squeezing past the man and shuffling into the living room where everyone was snuggled together on the couch. 

“We could have come to get you.” Geoff argued back, leaning over to lay a kiss amongst the messy curls. “You don’t feel warm.” He added with a questioning frown.

Holding up the box briefly he shrugged, “Antibiotics work quickly?” 

Pushing himself off the couch, Ryan wandered over quickly, reaching out to take the box before Michael could think to stop him. 

“What kind did they give you? Because when I went last time they gave m-” Michael winced as Ryan trailed of, taking in the writing on the packaging. “These aren’t antibiotics.” He stated simply, turning the box over in his hand and shooting a look at Michael. 

He tried to dodge forward, his hand swiping out to take the box before it could register, but it was too late.

“These are painkillers.” Michael gulped, his palms started to sweat, and muscles twitching uncomfortably. 

“Oh yeah I-er I have to um pick up the other ones tomorrow.” He responded pathetically, knowing he didn’t even sound vaguely truthful. 

“Michael?” Geoff said slowly, following him like a spooked animal as he backed away with small steps. “What’s going on?” 

Michael felt like crying, in fact he probably was, he was shaking too much to tell. With his breathing on the verge of hyperventilating, the others seemed to pick up on his sudden distress. The TV clicked off, Jack, Ray, and Gavin rising from the couch to stand beside Geoff and Ryan who still held the painkillers tight in his grip. 

It felt quite a lot like a firing squad. 

“I-I cut myself.” He mumbled under his breath, his eyes turned to the ground making it damn near impossible for the others to hear him. 

“What was that?” Geoff urged and, shaking, Michael’s head snapped up, the words blurting out before he could hold them back. 

“I cut myself!” He clapped his hands over his mouth as a wounded sob tumbled out after the words. 

The silence that followed was deafening. 

“You… did what?” Geoff said, barely audible. Michael’s vision blurred with hot tears as he stared at the floor, shoulders trembling. “You cut yourself on what? Why - why did you lie?”

It didn’t seem he was getting it, but then - 

“Did you cut yourself on purpose?” Ryan said, detached. His voice was void of feeling, and Michael knew his blue eyes must’ve been like ice. He couldn’t, however, force himself to look at his boyfriends quite yet.

It was the golden question. His odd behavior, his erratic mood - everything seemed be sum up into one frigid sentence that Ryan dropped emotionlessly.

But it wasn’t a question to which Michael could reply, but his breathy, controlled sobs were answer enough.

“I’m s- I’m sorry.” He managed to choke out, fists clenched at his side as he fought from wiping the moisture off his cheeks. “I’m fucking sorry.”

No one moved. Only the weak shaking of Michael’s shoulders shifted the air around them all. 

It was out in the open now, he’d said it, the first time anyone but his Mom had learned his dirty little secret. Maybe now he could-

“I - I don’t understand,” Gavin said, voice choked from frustration. “Why do you do it? For - for attention? You’re in a bloody relationship with six men - do you not have enough attention? You need more?”

Michaels heart hit the floor. 

“W-what?” 

“Gavin.” Jack hissed, finally stepping in from the sidelines. 

“What? Give me a better reason, Michael,” Gavin demanded, stepping forward and not even seeming slightly deterred when his boyfriend took a step back. “Go on!” He urged. 

“I-I didn’t… I wasn’t…” Michael stammered. The tremor in his body had seemingly started to radiate through his insides too, catching his words in his throat, and he could barely swallow around the saliva that felt as if it were drowning him. 

He finally understood that fight or flight bullshit they taught in school. There he was, right in the middle of the options. He quickly took in the state of his boyfriends. 

Gavin, who looked so frustrated and angry that Michael seriously doubted he would stay calm much longer. Ray, silent through the exchange was staring at him with a look akin to disbelief and...shame? Jack and Ryan both looked lost, concern mingling with horror and confusion. Geoff… Geoff just looked sick. He had sat down on the arm of the couch, shoulders hunched and eyes staring blankly forward in thought. He looked shocked no... more than that, he looked _disgusted._ Michael couldn’t blame him, he’d be pretty grossed out too if he found out he stuck his dick in a nutjob.

He fucked up. 

He really fucked up. 

He just had to get out. 

He was in his car, not even bothering to buckle his seatbelt, and down the street before any of them snapped out of it long enough to go after him.

\---

Sitting on the floor of the airport, he was seriously regretting not trying harder to grab the painkillers off Ryan before he left. 

Because the anaesthetic had completely worn off by now, the wound throbbed with every beat of his heart, and every throb felt like he was reopening the wound all over again. Add that to the emotional pain of his boyfriends rejection and Michael was in a whole world of agony. 

Speaking to his Mom had helped somewhat, knowing she was on the other end of the phone listening as he poured his heart out. He told her he was getting a flight, to expect him in the morning - before learning that the next flight wasn’t until the following day - and that he would explain everything when he saw her in person. 

She had been surprisingly calm and, for a woman who once yelled at a tomato can that rolled into her way in a supermarket, Michael had expected her to blow a few brain cells at the news. Then again Michael had played it down a little. _They just didn’t take it well, Mom._

“It’ll be okay Mikey.” She had responded before hanging up. 

The airport was pretty quiet for 10pm on a Wednesday night and no one gave the red-faced, tear stained, man on the floor a second glance; for which he was grateful. He’d cried in his car on the side of a road about a mile from home - thinking of his car what was he meant to do with that while he was in Jersey? - cried in the bathroom after finding out the flight wasn’t going to leave that night, and cried for just a little while in the same position he was in now, with his sniffles echoing around the air. 

Admittedly he hadn’t even booked his place on that early morning flight. The impulsivity that had spiked through him once he had driven from the house and decided where he was headed had bled away, leaving only desperate sadness and hopelessness in its wake. 

Pulling his knees up to his chest - ignoring the pull of stitches within skin - he plucked at the loose strands of bandage uncovered by the movement. It ached and stung like a bitch but it gave Michael some sort of feeling to ground himself in. 

“You should answer your phone.” Michael looked up, surprised to see Geoff standing over him. Michael held eye contact while he patted his pockets questioningly, stopping when he realised where he phone was. In the trunk of his car - probably broken if the force of the throw was anything to go by - where he had tossed it after ignoring the tenth phone call from the guys. 

“I was…” He croaked, his voice catching in his throat before he gave up and looked down. 

“I know,” Geoff said softly, sliding down the wall to meet him on the floor. Past him, Michael could see the others huddled by the wall, close but keeping their distance. 

“This wasn’t your first time.” Geoff whispered, resting his arms across his knees. 

Michael continued to pick at the bandages peeking out under his shorts.

“No.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” 

Michael shot him a look and gestured around them, to the position they were currently in. Geoff cringed and made a face. 

“Ah, yeah I guess…” he trailed off, his hand edging just a little closer to Michaels as if he was afraid to touch the other man. A couple walked past with a screaming baby in a stroller, holding their attention for a number of brief seconds, leaving the airport feeling quieter and emptier than before. 

“Listen, Michael…” He began quietly, “I’m sorry it happened like that. I don’t know why we reacted that way and I don’t even think Gavin understands why he said what he did, but he knows he shouldn’t have.” Michael shrugged and Geoff sighed.

“What I’m trying to say is I’m sorry. We’re all so fucking sorry.” His voice was cracking, tears pricking the corners of his eyes and a spike of guilt stabbed through Michael’s gut. He had done that, he had upset them he-

“I don’t know why I told you.” Michael said quickly, stretching his sore legs out in front of him. “I shouldn’t have told you.” Geoff spun around so fast that Michael thought he might fall sideways.

“No! Don’t you dare think that, I’m happy you told us, I’m pissed off at _us_ for taking it the wrong way.” 

“It wasn’t your fa-” Michael began, snapping his lips shut under Geoffs stern glare. 

“It wasn’t _your_ fault. It was ours. Now shut it and let me take blame for our horrible behavior.” 

Michael smiled, his fingers moving to pick at the dressing again. Beside him Geoff’s hand twitched and he could tell he wanted to stop the nervous action. 

“How did you know where to find me?” Michael asked after a while in silence. 

“Your Mom called,” Shocked, Michael opened his mouth to reply but Geoff stopped him, “She was disgusted with our behavior. Can’t say I blame her,” He added sadly, finally shifting his hand to touch Michaels, pulling his searching fingers away from the bandage. 

“Does it hurt?”

“Ryan had my pills.” 

“Well let’s go get those for you.” He slowly helped Michael to his feet, hoisting him up with one of Michael’s arms around his shoulder. As they edged slowly away from the wall Michael couldn’t bring himself to admit that the other leg - with the half healed cuts still scabbed and sore - ached as well, instead reveling in the closeness he had feared he had lost.

“You know we’re going to talk about this properly.” Geoff whispered, bumping shoulders with Michael as the two of them walked closer to the four waiting. Michael stiffened under his hand. 

“Later,” He added, smiling as he handed Michael off to Gavin who threw his arms around his boi, breathing fast, unintelligible apologies to him. “We’ll get through this.”


End file.
